Fearful Symmetry
by CallieMoon
Summary: When disgraced sniper Sebastian Moran returns to London for rehabilitation, he decides to settle for a quiet, mannerly life. A surprise encounter with an old friend changes everything. Mormor.
1. Prologue

Hello, all! Recently, I've been fascinated by John's shadow character: Sebastian Moran. Who is he? How did he meet Jim Moriarty? And what drew them together? Here's my take on how Moran met Moriarty. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Prologue**

"Well, well, well," sighed a voice. "Look who's awake."

Sebastian squinted against the light. The tiny room swarmed with whiteness and bright spots. Painkillers, probably. His vision focused on the face of Brigadier Stephens, hovering above his. Even with the room swimming, it was easy to tell that Brigadier Stephens was none too pleased.

"Morning, Brig," mumbled Sebastian.

Brigadier Stephens frowned. "Don't 'Brig' me, I'm still your superior officer."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Still?"

The brigadier's face slid out of his frame of vision, and Sebastian heard a plastic chair squeak under the man's weight as he sank down into it. Sebastian sat up slowly on the cot. His chest felt oddly tight. He turned on his side towards the brigadier.

"How many bullets this time?" he asked. He paused. "Sir."

The brigadier grunted. "You got lucky. You got four .223s to the chest. Could have killed you, but they just missed your heart." His face hardened. "Moran, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sebastian closed his eyes and settled back into the sheets. "I nearly had him, sir."

"Yeah, and you said that the first time in Algiers, and again after the incident in Saudi Arabia."

"Just give me two more months."

The brigadier was silent for a long while. Sebastian heard him fetch a deep sigh. "Two months? The game's over, sweetheart."

Sebastian blinked. "What do you mean by that?"

He blew out a breath. "We can't spend any more money on you, kid. Out of all the agents, you've gotten the closest, sure, but we can't afford to give you any more chances."

"You're discharging me."

"Damn right we are." Brigadier Stephens pursed his lips. "It will be an honorable discharge, with full benefits. You can return to London. Start a civilian life."

"Just two months, sir," Sebastian repeated. "Two months will be enough for me to catch up to him. It may be even less."

Brigadier Stephens shook his head. "Now, I understand adjusting to civilian life will be difficult. It's what we all have to deal with, sooner or later. But you've done good work for us, and now it's time for you to call it quits."

"He's still out there. Until I've gotten him, I'm not going back to London," asserted Sebastian.

"Then go to Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol—go to the moon, for all I care. But you're done here, kid."

"I'm not leaving until I complete my mission."

He scoffed. "Yeah, and I think we've both seen by now that it's not going to happen."

Sebastian looked him dead in the eye. "I'm staying, sir.

The colonel met his eyes calmly. "Then I'm getting you court-martialed."

He tensed. "Sir?"

Brigadier Stephens regarded him steadily. "I didn't choose you for this mission because you're the best shot in the army. You know why I chose you?"

"Because you knew I could finish anyone off, sir."

"See? That's what I saw in you. I saw deadliness. And I took a chance with it. But you became obsessed. You got too involved. You let the thrill of the game seduce you." He took an envelope out from his pocket. "Do you know how many men you killed?"

Sebastian lowered his eyes. "No."

"Neither do I." He gestured at the envelope in his lap. "I have the complete list here from my superiors, but I don't want to know."

"It was necessary," stated Sebastian.

The brigadier nodded. "Of course it was self-defense, at first. But you enjoyed it too much. You started shooting at anything that got in your way. Don't think I never found out about the prison guard here in Kabul." The brigadier held up the envelope. "If we ever decide to release this information, you wouldn't just be sectioned, you'd be imprisoned for life. We're letting you either quit here with an honorable discharge, or spend the rest of your life in prison."

Sebastian was silent for a long while. "What are you expecting me to tell you?"

"Give it up, Moran. You and I both know you can't go any longer: you've driven yourself crazy."

He nodded. "I suppose I have."

Then, he sat up, drew his gun, and shot the brigadier in the neck. The man's eyes bulged. He slumped over in his seat.

Restoring his gun to its holster, Sebastian climbed out of the cot, swaying slightly from the medications, and examined the body. Steadying his knees, he hoisted up the brigadier's limp form and tossed it onto the now-vacant bed, splattering blood on the floor and on the white sheets. The brigadier landed face down, arms hanging off the sides of the cot.

The envelope slid from his clenched fist. Sebastian knelt down and picked up the envelope from the puddle of blood. He turned it in his hands.

He had lied. He never forgot the men he killed, and he never would.

He prized open the envelope, and under the list of neatly typed names, he wrote in the brigadier's.


	2. Drawers

Chapter 1: Drawers

 _"_ _The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,_

 _Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life._

 _The last twist of the knife."_

 _—_ _T.S. Eliot_

Sebastian did end up going to London, as the late brigadier had suggested. He had tried to keep up the game for a while, but without the funding and endorsement, he soon wound up in Sudanian prison cell.

The military finally caught up to him. Another brigadier came to visit him. He offered a new choice: sectioning or life in prison.

Sebastian knew he had run out of options. He played along. In a covert trial, he pleaded not guilty of the brigadier's murder by reason of insanity. Of course, the other 37 killings were never revealed. The military couldn't afford to tarnish its image.

He played the role of the model patient during his time at Broadmoor. Perhaps he even began believing it. In exchange for his silence, they released him within six years. He bought himself a ticket and took the twelve o'clock train to London, simply because he had nowhere else to go.

With his small allowance, Sebastian rented a temporary flat in a wet, grey patch of London. Then, he set about finding employment.

An ordinary life, he told himself. Maybe the brigadier was right. Maybe he did have a shot at that.

In any case, the envelope remained in a drawer in a corner of his flat.

Eventually, he accepted a desk job in the security department of a mid-sized company. He was significantly overqualified for the position, but he didn't quite mind. All he had to do was review applications. It only took a signature, clean, crisp, and detached.

His duties were simple: sit at a neat, quiet desk from nine to five, in a neat, quiet office, complete with a gently rattling air conditioner and an empty picture frame next to the computer. The former he could ignore. As for the latter, he considered it briefly before tucking it away in another drawer.

On Monday evenings, he went to see his therapist in her eggnog yellow office.

"My job is going well," he noted. "I'm having a little trouble paying the bills, but I'm managing." He paused. "I buy groceries every week. Sometimes twice. Vegetables. Fruits. Meat, sometimes. I like chicken."

His therapist nodded, reclining in her leather chair. "That's good to hear." She wrote something down, and for a while, the only sounds were the scratching of her pen and the hum of the rain. "Do you have any activities?"

"Activities?" he repeated. "Like what?"

"Hobbies, interests, passions."

He shook his head. "None."

"What do you do when you come home from work everyday?" she inquired.

"I usually have a glass of wine," he replied. "I watch the news sometimes, or read a book."

She scribbled on the notepad. "Do you always spend the evenings alone?"

"Yes."

"Are you looking for anyone? Do you have plans to settle down?"

He turned up his palms. "I don't know."

She nodded, and wrote down a few last notes. Then, she looked up at him. "Sebastian, you need to give yourself a chance. Right now, I know you can't imagine being anything but a soldier, but you need to start opening yourself up."

He frowned. "How do I do that?"

"You can start by getting to know your coworkers. Smile at them in the hallway, say hello in the elevator. Or, you could take classes to learn a new skill and meet new people. Start small. Before you know it, you'll find a new normal."

Sebastian laughed quietly. "I can almost believe that."

That night, after his appointment, he stepped onto the Tube. He paused by the sliding door for a moment, surveying the people milling through the car. Then, he stepped towards the empty seats in the corner and sat down, just as the train rumbled off. As he trained his eyes on the blurring shapes in the window, he mentally checked off the first station and willed his muscles to relax a little. _Two more stops to go._

At the next stop, a family boarded the train, a mother, a father, and a blue-coated little girl. Chattering loudly, they settled right across from him. Sebastian's arms and legs tensed.

The girl's wide eyes zeroed in on him, and he quickly averted his eyes. However, he couldn't get the feeling of her gaze off of him. The prickly blue eyes crawled all over him. His coat tightened around him, and he felt hot sweat gathering at the roots of his hair. Hastily, he snatched up an old newspaper from the ground and positioned it in front of his face, willing himself to focus on the arrangements of letters and pictures until his forehead cooled and his grip on the paper relaxed.

The train rolled to a stop. He heard rustling and chatter as the family stood up and were swallowed by the crowd.

He let out a slow breath. _One more stop_.

A new wave of people swept onto the train, and the doors slid closed. As the train roared off, he slowly lowered the newspaper and—

"Sebastian! Oh my God!"

His fists sprang shut around the newspaper. Warily, he let his eyes travel upward. A thirty-something brunette was approaching him, smiling widely.

Sebastian blinked. "Oh."

A beat of silence passed. Then, shifting, she inquired, "You do remember me, don't you?"

"Of course." He nodded. "I'd never forget."

Her smile returned, and she hesitated towards him for a moment. Forgoing the embrace, she withdrew quickly. "It's been so long."

"Almost twenty years," he acknowledged. He let out a careful breath, and his grip relaxed slightly. "It's…good to see you, Molly."

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Please R&R! Thank you so much for reading. The next chapter should be up within a week.


	3. Stations

And here we are. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 2: Stations

 _"I was walking along, looking for somebody, and then suddenly I wasn't anymore."_

— _A.A. Milne_

"I can't believe I ran into you," Molly breathed. The train jolted, and she swayed unsteadily. She righted herself on a pole. "I always wanted to get in touch, but you changed your number and moved away, and you never came to any of the alumni gatherings—I was always looking for you at the gatherings, hoping you'd show up someday, but—" She paused. "Of course, I understand why you didn't," she assured him.

He dipped his head. "Yes."

She backed up, settling into the seat across his. "So? What have you been up to since secondary school? You did end up enlisting, didn't you?"

His body tensed. "How did you hear about that?"

She cocked her head. "I just assumed that you enlisted, since you talked about doing it in secondary school."

Sebastian relaxed his clenched fist. "Oh. Right."

"So when did you get back?"

"Six months ago." He briefly closed his eyes. "I've been discharged."

He didn't elaborate, and even though it had been twenty years, he knew he didn't have to with her. She pursed her lips and nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You haven't changed, you know," she finally remarked. "I mean, I can tell you've been through a lot, but you're still the same Sebastian."

He studied her, taking in the beige jumper and the worn jeans. As the train wound to a stop, he resolutely rose, stepped forward, and leaned forward to embrace her. "I could say the same about you," he replied, wrapping his arms around her.

Molly drew him towards her and held him tightly. There was something oddly familiar and comforting about the contact: the graze of wool sleeves, the brief pressure and warmth, the slight tremble of her hands.

The train slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open. As people started stepping out of the train, Sebastian glanced up. Molly pulled back.

"This is your stop, isn't it."

It was a statement, not a question. Molly could read the flicker of his eyes.

He considered the doorway for a moment. Then, he looked away. "I don't have anywhere I need to be."

She placed her hand on his arm. "Let's have coffee. I know a place, it's near the next station…"

Within ten minutes, Molly and Sebastian were in a small brick café right by the station entrance, settled in a warmly lit windowside nook. A blonde waitress stepped lightly up to their table, notepad in hand.

"Good evening! What would you like?" she inquired.

Molly replied, "I'd like an espresso, please."

The waitress nodded and scribbled down her order. Then, she eyed Sebastian.

"And he would like black coffee," Molly stated promptly, just as Sebastian shifted and turned towards the window.

Jotting down the order, the waitress strode off, casting a final doe-eyed look back at Sebastian. Then, she disappeared through a curtain behind the counter.

Sebastian quietly turned to Molly. "You still remember how I like my coffee."

She shrugged. "It's impossible to forget anything from secondary school."

A beat of silence passed. Then, Sebastian asked, "How have you been, Molly?"

"I've been fine. I have a position at the morgue, and it pays well."

"You're a mortician?"

She nodded. "You know I wanted to be a forensic scientist, but then my dad—you know."

"I remember."

"I studied criminology for a while in Uni. Then, to help pay my tuition, I got a part-time job at the morgue, and everything just clicked." She smiled. "It helped me make my peace with it."

He contemplated her words. "I'm glad," he replied finally. "The position fits you." He looked down at the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean it as an insult or anything. I just meant to say—"

"No, no, I get you. I think so, too." She brightened. "And I've found someone, I think."

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. "Oh, good for you. Who is he?"

"He's someone I met at work. He doesn't work at the morgue, but he investigates with the police. His name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes."

"Tell me about him."

She leaned forward. "He's absolutely brilliant," she breathed. "He can deduce anything about anyone just by looking at their face and their clothes." She paused. "He can be a little cruel sometimes, though," she added.

He frowned. "Is he cruel to you?"

"He doesn't mean it," she clarified quickly. "He's just socially inept. Kind of like you," she teased.

He allowed himself a small smile. "All right. Just be careful, Molly."

"I will."

Presently, the waitress appeared again, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. Molly took them, thanking her and smiling, and the waitress disappeared the way she came.

Molly slid one mug towards Sebastian and took the other, bending over to blow on it. Sebastian picked up his cup and took a large gulp.

"Isn't it hot?" inquired Molly, glancing up.

He swallowed. "It's fine."

Molly blew again, then delicately lifted the cup to her lips. She took a careful sip. "I never thought I'd be saying this as a good thing, but it almost feels like secondary school again," she said, putting down the mug and wiping her lips.

He nodded. "I remember that café we always stopped by to avoid Wilfred and Oliver."

Molly shuddered. "Oh, God. Wilfred and Oliver. Haven't thought about them in a while."

"I remember the time when we were walking home and we saw them rounding the corner—"

"—and we got so scared that we completely forgot our planned escape route, and we ended up hiding in the garbage bins," she finished, grimacing. "Well, at least it worked."  
He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of coffee. "I have to admit that it was good training for the military."

She laughed. "And the smell of the morgue can't compare with that garbage bin."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping quietly at their coffee. Then, Molly asked, "So, what are you up to now?"

Swallowing, he put down his cup. "Nothing much. I have a desk job. It doesn't pay very well, but it mostly covers the rent."

She nodded, sipping. "Are you looking for anyone?"

"No. I probably wouldn't have any luck, anyway."

Molly reached over and slapped his hand. "Don't say that." He glanced away. Her eyes never leaving him, she took a sip of coffee. Then, she quickly set the cup back down. "How would you feel about a flatmate?" she inquired.

Putting down his own mug, he frowned. "Sorry?"

"I know a man from Bart's, he works in IT. He's been looking for a flatmate. I could introduce you," she offered.

He considered the idea. "A flatmate," he repeated.

"Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I think it'd be good for you."

Sebastian blew out a breath. "I don't think anyone would like to have me as a—" A glare from Molly cut him off. He bowed his head. "All right."

She raised her eyebrows. "All right what?"

"I'm not making any promises, but I'll think about it."

She grinned. "Great. Thank you, Sebastian."

"For what?"

Molly whapped him lightly on the head. "For not being an idiot."

Sebastian chuckled quietly. "I'll try."

He finished his coffee, and Molly did the same. However, she made no motion to leave, so neither did he. They stayed long after the coffee steam had faded from the window. Eventually, all the tables around them were empty and the kitchen staff had hung up their aprons and gone home. At 10:03, the owner stepped up to their table, leaning over to switch off the neon sign.

"Sorry, lovebirds," she sighed. "I have to close up."

"We'll be out in a minute," assured Molly, standing up and pulling on her jacket. Then, she stepped over to help Sebastian with his coat. "Ready?" she asked.

He nodded, buttoning the coat up. "Yes, let's go."

The owner smiled. "So? Who gets the bad news?"

Sebastian glanced at Molly, and she patted her pocket subtly. "Oh," he murmured. Turning towards the owner, he stated, "I'll pay."

He reached into his pocket to take out his wallet. Molly reached towards his wrist, stopping him. "No, you won't. I'm paying, Sebastian."

Molly dug a handful of bills from her wallet, and the money changed hands.

"Good night," said the owner brightly.

"Good night," Molly called behind her as she and Sebastian walked through the door.

The street itself was mostly empty, save for a few passing cars, but the sidewalks buzzed with life. Men and women spilled out of gaping pub doors, swaggering past the pair, laughing and singing discordantly. In the illumination of the streetlamps, eyes flashed everywhere. People threw around glances like dice. Sebastian kept his eyes fixed on the sidewalk. He watched his and Molly's shadows, pinned sharply to the tips of their toes and narrowing to a point, as if they were leaning intently forward. The silhouettes looked cut-and-pasted from a superhero comic: he in his long triangular coat, Molly flanking him in her light sweater and smart jeans.

He laughed silently at that last thought. Superheroes. The two of them had been bursting with bold dreams and cartoonish ideals back in secondary school. Look how that had turned out for him.

"It is like secondary school," reflected Sebastian. "In a lot of ways."

Molly glanced at him. "Sorry?"

He chuckled. "People still assume we're a couple, don't they? Even now."

"Oh, always," she said. "People always ask me about you at the alumni gatherings, as if you had been my boyfriend."

Both of them laughed at the absurd idea.

"Neither of us were ever really relationship material," mused Sebastian.

Molly added, "And not for lack of trying on my part."

"Let me know how it goes with this investigator fellow," said Sebastian. "Sherman?"

"Sherlock," Molly corrected. "It's not going to go well, but thank you."

"Why not?" he asked.

"I don't think I'm really his type."

He nodded. "You should give yourself a chance, though."

"Hypocrite," she murmured.

"What?"

She smiled. "Nothing."

They had arrived at the bus station. The two glanced at each other.

"I'm not going to ask you what you've been doing all these years," said Molly. "I know you don't want to talk about it. But for the future, just promise not to disappear on me again."

He wordlessly took her phone from her and entered in his number. "There," he said.

Taking back her phone, Molly tapped at the screen, creating his contact. Her face looked pale and childlike in the glow, as if she were still the nervous, eager schoolgirl he remembered.

She turned the phone to him. "That okay?"

His contact name was "Tigger."

Sebastian's mouth tugged, and he felt a strange burning in his throat. It was a secret joke from long ago, one he hadn't thought about for a long time. For the life of him, he couldn't remember how it started. Of course, they never called each other those names at school: they were taunted enough as it was. But between the two of them, he had been Tigger, she had been Roo.

He swallowed. "Very good."

Molly smiled widely, seeming relieved that he remembered. "I'll text you, then." She wrapped him in a warm hug. "See you, Tigger."

His bus pulled into the station, and the doors slid open. Taking his card out of his pocket, he stepped through the threshold.

"Think about the flatmate," she called after him.

He looked back and nodded, then pressed his card against the scanner. As soon as it lit up green, he strode past the shadowed forms of the other passengers to the empty row at the very back of the bus.

Molly Hooper. Secondary school. The shouts and laughter in the hallway.

He sighed, and the street beyond the window pane blurred with the fog of his breath. His hard, careful world had become suddenly unfocused. Ever since his discharge from the military, he had lived firmly within the present, moving rigidly from moment to moment, like a chess piece shifting from one square to the next. First, seeing his friend again after all those years, then, her offer of a flatmate…the past again, and a potential future…life just as it could had been.

The bus rattled to a start. As the blur cleared, he stared out at the pulsing lights. He gazed at the liquid crowds that throbbed through the concrete veins of London.

Anything was possible, now. Perhaps, even, an ordinary life.

* * *

Molly and Sebastian's friendship is so fun to write. They both really could use a friend, and I think they're similar in many ways (an idea that I'll explore more later in upcoming chapters). Please let me know what you think! Until next time!


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